With John off dealing with another important case back in London, Sherlock sought after the assistance of the local mortician to aid in investigating the case of the speculated haunting going on around the area here in Essex. Just as the sleuthing pair stepped into the old abandoned mansion, the dark overcast sky began to pour down with a sudden heavy rain. It seemed the storm was right on schedule.
Ignoring the distant rolling of thunder heading towards the house, the detective squinted into the darkness surrounding them. Suspecting that total blindness would be the case, Sherlock pulled out two portable flashlights from his pocket, handing one over to Molly. "Watch your step," he warned in a low voice. Cautious to the fact that other people may in fact be loitering about the place, he took slow steps forward while shining the light on various dust covered objects.
It was almost a burden, how close Molly followed behind him. She was nearly clinging to his back, her footsteps matching in nervous pace with his own. Finding nothing of real interest downstairs besides old photos from previous tenants throughout the ages, he turned around back towards Molly with a frown. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a loud thump came from above their heads followed by the sound of running. Sherlock put a finger to his lips, signaling silence from the female as the quiet befell them once again.
Maneuvering around her, he made his way towards the creaking and worn staircase. Taking easy steps, they made their way up the spiral stairs to the next floor, the empty hallway flashing briefly from the lightning outside. There were two other floors, but for now this was the place Sherlock felt needed to be investigated first. Each door along the hallway was left wide open, all the rooms scattered with old furniture thrown over with blankets.
Upon reaching the last room, before they even had a chance to step inside, the door instantly slammed shut in their face; the sound matching in time with a loud roar of thunder. Not missing a beat, Sherlock kicked open the door and ran inside to find nothing but old bookshelves on every wall. Two torn chairs sat around a small tea table; the kettle and cups shattered and left fallen on the scuffed silver tray.
Finding nothing in sight, he turned to leave the room. Just as he turned heel, lightning clapped violently outside the mansion, sending a vibration rumbling the entire building. Before he knew it, he heard Molly cry out. Snapping his head around, he caught glimpse of the female falling through an open and closed trap door at the corner of the room. He deduced that she must have tripped something when she had stumbled back from shock. "Molly-" he yelled, rushing over to the spot where the female had fallen. But he was too late, and the door had already snapped shut.
Though he pounded his fist against the floor, the door refused open from his aggression. Hissing through his teeth, he looked up at the bookshelf, rapidly searching for any line of dust that could have been broken. "Ah-" he mused, finding just the right book she must have touched. Moving away from the trapdoor, he tripped the switch by pulling down the book's spine. He shined a light down the dark hole, seeing nothing but blackness. "Molly?" he called, crouching down. "Can you hear me?" He listened hard, but didn't receive any response.
Deciding to go in after her, he slid down the trap door's chute down to what he assumed was the basement. Leaping off of the chute, he found Molly fallen at his feet. Checking her pulse and vital signs, he concluded that she had just fainted. After a moment, he shook her to bring her back to her senses. "Wake up," he called while shining his light around the large room. All around them where old wooden and closed caskets. The atmosphere was a bit eery, even for the calm detective.
Shaking it off, he waited for Molly to regain her consciousness before helping her to stand. "Come on," he quipped, "we have to get back upstairs." Doing just that, he lead the stumbling woman to the boken staircase at the edge of the musty basement. "Careful…" The boards on the stairs were old and molded, creaking heavily beneath their feet. Just as he figured they would, one gave way under Molly's feet, forcing Sherlock to react in time and catch her from falling through. Shining a light down the newly formed hole, he found a scatter of bones, a skull sticking out from the moist dirt below. "Urgh-" he scuffed, covering his mouth.
Hearing one of the caskets fall from the other side of the room, Sherlock turned the flashlight over to the area, finding a cloud of dust forming. The air was quickly becoming contaminated, and he forced Molly to ascend the stairs faster. Once they reached the top, the door was shut tight, leading him to believe that there might be furniture left blocking the doorway. "Stand back," he demanded. Having her give him some space, he rammed the door, having it give out under his force. Stumbling out into the first floor again, he looked down to find that there was nothing there at all. It made no sense that the door wouldn't initially open. Scoffing, he helped Molly out of the basement by grabbing her hand.
Just as the two closed the basement door, the running sound appeared again. Though this time, it was right down the hall from them. Looking up, Sherlock saw a figure swiftly rush past them. "Wait-!" He yelled before running after the shadow. Following after it quickly, he hurdled over fallen tables and scattered chairs to catch up to the figure.
The humanoid figure lead them to a secluded room on the first floor, where it stood with no place left to flee. Before Sherlock had the chance to shine the light on the person, the lightning struck again and flashed on the shadow's face. "Who are you?" Sherlock asked, finding that the figure was in fact a teenage male with scuffs and dirt caked onto his entire form. His clothes were worn, not changed for quite some time. The last time his skin had seen a shower must have been months. It made sense, as there was no running water found anywhere in this old mansion. It was even set for demolition before the accounts of hauntings happened. That's when it hit Sherlock like a freight train.
"Ah," he sighed, finally realizing the situation. "So you're the one that accounts for all these 'hauntings'," he said with a knowing grin, still huffing from the running they had done moments before.
With Molly looking over Sherlock's shoulder, the boy explained that he was recently orphaned about a year ago, and this old mansion was the only place he had left to run. The garden out back supplied the teen with all that he needed to sustain life, and he even filtered rain water to drink along with the aided charity of the local church up the road. It seemed that the pastor had known of this boy's squatting, but chose not to report it. Perhaps to protect the teen. Whatever the reason, Sherlock had little interest. "When I heard that the place would be torn down," the boy explained, "I had the idea to make the place haunted. Before I knew it, the whole town was talking. It is really easy to fake a haunting…"
Sherlock took a look around the room before letting his adjusted eyes fall back on the teen. "You're the one hiding in all the windows, causing all the fuss from the neighbors. Quite clever," he complimented. "You are pretty strong for an underfed teenager," he hummed. The boy shrugged while Molly looked up to Sherlock, confused. Noticing this, he didn't bother looking down at her before explaining the reasoning to her, "He is the one that held us up from escaping in the basement. I thought you were an old couch. I'm glad you weren't." Stepping more inside the room, he made his way over to the teen for a closer look at the culprit. "But you're going to have to come with us now. We both know that you cannot keep living in this house. It is unsafe and festered with mold," he said with a slight grimace in remembrance of the disgusting basement walls.
By the time the three walked outside, the storm had already nearly passed, leaving only a light drizzle falling from the clearing gray sky. Letting Molly lead the boy back to the car, Sherlock walked down the entrance steps and off the porch, turning to gaze up at one of the many broken windows. His blue eyes narrowed as the curtain pulled back, as if someone was peering back down at him. Before he had the chance to run back in and investigate further, Molly called after him from the jeep. Obliging, he turned away and left the mansion's mystery to be solved another day.